Unintentional
by Spawn of Malfoy
Summary: Hermione Granger has never had anything but hatred and maybe a little curiosity for Draco Malfoy. When the two are forced together, will they be able to get along? Or will disaster be the only result?
1. Chapter 1: Meetings

**Author's note: My first story! This is very exciting. Some background that you WILL need to know: This is canon up until the end of the Deathly Hallows, not including the epilogue, which sucks. The only change I have made is that Hermione and Ron never got together at all. This first chapter is just setting the scene from Hermione's point of view – the story will start in the next chapter. I fully intend on trying to keep the characters as close to their normal personality as I can, but they will probably need to change for this story to happen at all. I'll leave you to it now. Goodbye, and happy reading!**

Unintentional

Spawn of Malfoy

Chapter 1: Meetings

It was September the first, 1991, at precisely 2:44pm, that Hermione Granger first met Draco Malfoy. She was halfway between the toilet and her compartment, on a train that was taking her to her new life. Hermione Granger was a witch, and she was proud to be one, albeit afraid. If there was one thing in the world that Hermione hated, it was the unknown. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was definitely an unknown, and therefore it was frightening.

Even more frightening was the series of events that had brought her to this point. Like that time, in her second year of primary school, when she'd wanted to tie up her hair for the annual school photos. Her mother had refused, because Hermione's unruly curls were 'glorious and beautiful and just like Grandma's', and Hermione had gone to school muttering under her breath about oppression and right to free speech. However, when the photos were handed out a month later, there was her hair in a neat ponytail. Her mother was furious, but Hermione couldn't explain it – she hadn't tied her hair up at all.

Or there was the time just last year when Hermione's teacher, Mr Gladstone, had been handing out the previous week's Maths test. Hermione could see her paper on the bottom of the pile, and she was devastated. How could she possibly wait till last to know how she'd done? But, miraculously, Mr Gladstone had called her name first, and she'd looked at it and it said 'Hermione Granger, 20/20, well done'.

In each case, she'd been completely terrified, not of what she'd done, but of how she could have possibly done it. She had been so relieved when Professor McGonagall had appeared on her doorstep and explained everything. Finally, a known!

But now, walking down the crowded corridors of the Hogwarts Express, Hermione was feeling that fear again. She hurried down the corridor, lost in thought, and this was how she came to run headlong into somebody else. A startled cry escaped from her throat; the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ she'd been clutching crashed to the ground alongside her. From her low position, the boy she was looking up at seemed taller than he was, even though he was tall already. White blonde hair was swept back from a pale forehead, under which a pointed chin gave way to a slender body in an expensive-looking grey dress shirt, black suit pants and polished black shoes. He radiated an aristocratic air, but it was not this that Hermione first noticed. It was his eyes – grey, almost silver, and penetrating, as though he was seeing straight through her and into the floor. There was confusion in his eyes, masking a flash of anger she couldn't decide whether she'd seen or not. He looked at her, sprawled on the ground, for a few moments, and then the corners of his mouth lifted in an inexplicable smile. And then he walked away and she sat on the floor, dumbfounded.

It was still September the first, 1991, at precisely 7:26pm, when Hermione sat on a little wooden stool and felt an old, patched hat drop over her eyes, and listened to that old, patched hat tell her how it would love to place her in Ravenclaw, but how it couldn't ignore those streaks of bravery and loyalty. She heard it shout 'Gryffindor' to the crowd, and she practically ran to the table, which had exploded into noise. She was slapped on the back by people she'd never met, and patted on the head by a regal-looking ghost, which was probably one of the strangest experiences she'd ever had, so far. In that moment, she felt she belonged with these people. She looked down and discovered her tie and the edges of her sweater had turned red and gold, and a crest with a rearing lion had appeared on her robes, and suddenly she was sure she belonged.

A few names later, she watched the blonde boy from the train sink onto the little wooden stool with an air of nonchalance, and she heard the old, frayed Sorting Hat shout 'Slytherin' the second it brushed his hair. She watched him stand and walk down the marble steps, and then his head turned and he was watching her, too. For a few moments, their eyes remained locked. Suddenly he smiled at her again, but it wasn't like the last smile. It was meaner, somehow, less happy, and Hermione supposed if she had to call it something, she'd call it a half a smile, half a sneer. His eyes left hers and he sat at the far table in his new green and silver trim, with his new serpentine crest, and Hermione felt confused.

It was September the second, 1991, at precisely 8:15am, when Hermione sat at a long, wooden table in her new red and gold uniform with a whole bunch of other people that were dressed the same. She listened to them talk about where they'd come from, laughed at Seamus' description of his father's face when he told Seamus about the day he discovered his wife was a witch. She giggled with everyone else as Dean drew _his_ father's face on a scrap of parchment, on the day he saw Dean accidently turn the cat orange. And when it came to Hermione's turn, she told them about her Muggle parents, their dental practice, the school photo incident and the test paper incident. As she talked, she felt a whisper of movement behind her, as though someone was passing by. As everyone else guffawed at Harry's imitation of his uncle's shouts in a small shack in the middle of the sea, Hermione turned and once again looked into the eyes of the boy Professor McGonagall had called Draco Malfoy, and this time his smile was definitely a sneer, and hardly a smile at all.

It was May the twenty-third, 1994, at precisely 4:48pm, when Hermione Granger first felt the urge to slap Draco Malfoy. Stupid git. She watched him laugh with his friends about Buckbeak, delighting in his imminent execution. She thought about his innate ability to piss off everyone he ever came into contact with. She thought about Buckbeak, Scabbers and Sirius Black, and everything else that had happened, and her blood began to boil. Her _dirty, Muggle blood_, as Malfoy would no doubt remind her the minute he caught sight of her. Her anger boiled over, and on May the twenty-third, 1994, at precisely 4:49pm, Hermione Granger slapped Draco Malfoy in the face. Her hand turned red and stung where it had made contact with Malfoy's cheek. But that was nothing compared to the satisfied glow that was welling up inside her as she watched a brilliant red handprint materialise on his pale, nasty, _pureblood_ face. He staggered, and it irritated her; what business did he have looking shocked when he knew how much he deserved it? Her rage rose again and she shouted at him, raised her hand once more. Harry and Ron tried to stop her, and then she pulled out her wand, and everyone backed away. She pointed the wand at his face and looked into his eyes, challenging him to retaliate, and she was shocked to catch a momentary flash of pain that was quickly buried under a mountain of anger and hate. She heard him mutter "C'mon" to Crabbe and Goyle, and then they were gone. She stood very still, and thought about the first time she'd met him, how she'd looked at him and he'd smiled like he was thinking about being her friend, and suddenly she felt a little bit guilty.

It was August the nineteenth, 1994, at precisely 3:23am, when Hermione ran into Draco Malfoy in the bush near a Muggle campsite. Behind her, a crowd of hooded, masked scum trampled tents while four helpless Muggles twisted in midair above them. She saw the way his grey eyes glittered with malice. She heard him insinuate that a _Mudblood_ such as herself deserved to spin above the heads of the crowd, too. She felt the hatred and rage boil again, but she pushed it back because she was older and better than that. She held Ron back, channelling all her anger into the task, and she found she wasn't so furious anymore. Just a little angry, a little sad, and a little disappointed that Malfoy had turned out the way he had.

It was May the third, 1997, at precisely 4:52am, when Hermione Granger first learned that Draco Malfoy was indirectly responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore. She felt sad, angry, upset, disappointed, melancholy, enraged, drained and furious, and then she felt nothing at all.

It was March the sixth, 1998, at precisely 9:28pm, when Hermione was dragged into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, bound to her friends and allies and expecting to die at any moment. She saw the expensive rug on the floor, the crystal chandelier, the portraits of Malfoy ancestors adorning the walls. She heard Narcissa Malfoy send for her son and she knew, in that moment, that her life would soon be over. She watched Draco Malfoy cross the room to identify them, and when she looked him in the eye defiantly, he was unable to meet her gaze. She closed her eyes, waiting for death, and then she distinctly heard him say it.

"I can't – I can't be sure."

Hermione could not believe her ears. She waited for him to change his mind, waited to be revealed, but nothing came. She listened with bated breath as he was questioned, the air thick with the excitement and hunger of the other Death Eaters. She heard him deny, again and again, that he was looking at Hogwarts' Golden Trio, and she saw the smallest chance of survival.

Later, when Bellatrix Lestrange pointed her wand at her and shouted questions that bounced around in her ears, and Hermione screamed and tried to hold onto her sanity through the pain, she looked at Malfoy again and he still averted his eyes.

It was April the twenty-second, 1998, at precisely 12:01am, when Hermione felt that feeling she hadn't had for three years – the urge to slap Draco Malfoy. It was ridiculous, really, that she should feel that way when they were so close to the diadem, and Crabbe was the one that had just tried to kill her in the Room of Requirement, but feel she did. She shot her next Stunning Spell at Malfoy, because she needed to relieve her feelings and because she couldn't get close enough to hit him. She charged at him, and then she skidded to a stop and screamed at Harry as a wall of flame erupted behind him and rushed towards them, gaining momentum as it wrapped, snakelike, around the mountains of rubbish. Hermione ran for her life as the fire burned hotter, higher, and she didn't even think of her fear of flying as she climbed onto the broom behind Ron. She helped drag Goyle up behind her, and then they were coughing in the corridor, and this time Malfoy didn't bother to hide the pain that was turning his face to marble and his eyes to cold steel.

It was still April the twenty-second, 1998, at precisely 5:46am, when Hermione looked over the heads of hundreds of jubilant people, rejoicing in the defeat of Voldemort and the triumph of Harry Potter, and looked straight into the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. They stared at each other for several long moments, and he looked lost, then looked away, and she couldn't interpret his expression at all.

And it was August the fifth, 1998, at precisely 3:22pm, when Hermione Granger learned of her impending doom at the hands on Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2: Not You

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long. End of uni semester = busy busy busy. This chapter's probably a little short, but I like it better that way. Anyway, thanks to my 'beta', the irrepressible Madolyn, AKA my younger sister. Really all she does is tell me if she likes the chapter, because she has pretty much zero understanding of spelling, grammar and punctuation, but she demanded a mention.**

Chapter 2: Not You

**May 24****th****, 1998: 3:16pm**

Hermione sprawled back onto her bed at Grimmauld Place and sighed, savouring being alive for just a moment or two. It was a wonderful feeling. Fantastic. Best feeling in the whole world. It had been a month since Harry Potter had triumphed over Voldemort, and Hermione's life was falling into place better than she could have dreamed. She sighed again and allowed her memories to fill her up for a while. Watching Harry bring down the most evil wizard of all time, and without using _Avada Kedavra_ either – she couldn't have been more proud of him if she'd tried. Celebrating for three days straight at Hogwarts Castle, a celebration that was as much a wake as it was a party. Going to Australia to find her parents had been difficult – not just because she had to find them, but also because she was terrified they'd be furious, wouldn't want her anymore because of what she'd done. She couldn't have been more wrong. Her parents were overjoyed to see her, understanding completely why she did what she did. Her mother cried with happiness as she told them what she'd accomplished, and her father looked so proud he could burst.

Her parents had decided to remain in Australia, because _Oh Hermione, you should see the Harbour Bridge and the beaches and the desert, and the Opera House and the ocean and the warm summer nights_, and Hermione was fine with that. If she wanted to visit, she could Apparate, although it was nearly as tiring as taking a plane there because of the distance. And they were right – the beaches were fantastic.

Hermione wanted to dance and scream and cheer, a feeling she'd had since she arrived at the former Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and so she went and found Harry and Ron, and that's exactly what they did. Unfortunately, all the noise set Pigwidgeon twittering in a wild spin around the drawing room, and also brought Mrs Weasley out from the kitchen. She hurried into the room, wand at the ready, and was startled to find three teenagers swinging around the drawing room with their hands joined, screaming and laughing as they went. Mrs Weasley flopped down on the lounge, clutching her chest.

"Goodness gracious, you three nearly gave me a heart attack!" she gasped, giving them an irritated but somehow affectionate glare. "I thought Death Eaters were invading, at the very least!"

It was true that there were still a few Death Eaters at large, having somehow evaded capture in the pandemonium that followed Harry's defeat of Voldemort. However, they had by and large decided to go into hiding, rather than actively continuing to follow orders from their dead master, and as such didn't pose much of a threat. The three teenagers stopped laughing long enough to look slightly guilty, though the giggles still escaping them ruined the effect somewhat.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley", Harry chuckled, letting go of Ron's hand and sending him sprawling back onto the Black family tapestry. Ron clambered back up, rubbing his shoulder, and smacked Harry on the back of the head as Mrs Weasley left the room, shaking her head in bemusement. As soon as she'd gone, the three friends dissolved into wild laughter.

"Oh, that was absolutely hilarious!" Hermione giggled, clutching the stitch in her side.

"Did you see Mum's face?" Ron added, tears of laughter streaming down his face. "Priceless!"

They paused for breath, and it was at that moment that they heard the front door open. The former Golden Trio picked themselves up off the floor and piled through the drawing room door.

"I hope that's Kingsley", said Ron as they pounded down the stairs. "I want to ask him when the applications for Auror training close."

They spilled into the hallway and discovered it was indeed Kingsley Shacklebolt, who paused halfway through pulling off his midnight blue cloak and looked inexplicably apprehensive.

"Hello, you three", Kingsley said, removing the rest of his cloak. It was then they noticed that someone had backed into the hallway behind him, hauling a large trunk.

"Er", said Kingsley, now looking very nervous. "There was an attack today, and-"

The rest of Kingsley's sentence was drowned out as a tall young man stepped out from behind him. Shiny black shoes and charcoal dress pants were covered by a black fur cloak with silver trim, which rested on the lean shoulders of a teenager with grey eyes and white-blonde hair. Kingsley had just entered the former Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix with none other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry and Ron instantly began shouting, raising their wands as the portrait of Mrs Black woke, adding her screams to the din. Hermione could not hear any of it. The roaring of her own hatred rang in her ears, drowning every other sound as she raised her own wand. Her voice cut through the noise and Malfoy's eyes snapped to her as she spoke to Kingsley.

"_What_", Hermione ground out, her body shaking with fury, "is _he_ doing here?"

Harry and Ron broke off yelling and both turned their accusing glares to Kingsley too, clearly waiting for a response. None of them lowered their wands. Kingsley rubbed a large hand over his face.

"I knew you'd react like this", he sighed, "but I had no choice. There was a Death Eater attack today. We think it could be Rabastan Lestrange, though we can't be sure. Anyway, he somehow got into Malfoy Manor." Malfoy turned away as Kingsley continued.

"Narcissa Malfoy was murdered as she walked out of the drawing room", Kingsley said heavily. Hermione gasped, and Harry's expression softened for a moment.

"Lucius Malfoy is, as you know, serving time in Azkaban, and is therefore safe – for the time being, at least. Draco, however, is in grave danger until we catch whoever was responsible for this."

"How do you know?" Harry said, a little roughly. "They could have been only after Narcissa. It's common knowledge after her trial , what she did for me."

"We know from the inscription that was left on her chest." Kingsley looked faintly disgusted now, and Malfoy growled behind him, though he still didn't turn around.

"What? A message?"

"A message", Kingsley confirmed, "written in Permanent Ink on her body." Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, feeling horrified and dreading what was next. Ron looked slightly pale as he spoke.

"What did it say?"

Malfoy's shoulders tightened for a moment, and then he whirled around, anger only partly masking the pain in his grey eyes and the evidence of unshed tears.

"It said", growled Malfoy, his voice rising with every word, "on my mother's body, '_You're next, Draco'_. On my mother's body." In the silence that followed, Malfoy looked at Hermione again, and though she still glared at him, inside she felt sorry. Sorry for his loss, sorry they hadn't prevented it, and sorry, like she had many years ago, that his life had turned out the way it had.

"Draco will be staying here, under the protection of the Order." Kingsley narrowed his eyes at them, and it was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that none of them made any objections. "Harry, is anyone using Regulus' old room?"

"I don't think so. We offered it to Percy, but he wouldn't go in there. Said it didn't feel right."

"Alright, we'll put Draco in there. Draco, the room's on the third floor. Sign on the door says something like 'do not enter'. It's got Regulus' name on it somewhere. And you three might need to lower your wands and let him pass."

Hermione looked down, startled to realise her wand was still trained on Malfoy's face. She lowered it, and on either side of her Harry and Ron did the same. They stepped aside and, after levitating his trunk, Malfoy marched past them and up the stairs. They watched him out of sight, and then Harry turned back to Kingsley.

"How long?"

"I'm not sure", said Kingsley. "It depends how long it takes us to find out what happened." Kingsley turned to leave and then paused, looking at each of them in turn.

"Try to go easy on him, won't you? He's not had a wonderful day."

Kingsley refastened his cloak and left. Hermione looked the two boys, lost for words. They stood in silence for a few moments, and then Ron spoke, looking faintly annoyed.

"Damn", he grumbled. "I forgot to ask Kingsley about the Auror training."

Harry looked at his in bemusement, and Hermione, despite the situation, couldn't help herself. She laughed as she led the way back upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3: In Her Head

Chapter 3: In Her Head

**August 5****th****, 1998: 2:46pm**

Living in the same house as Draco Malfoy was surprisingly less difficult than Hermione had imagined. It had been just under three months since Malfoy had arrived, and Hermione hardly knew a thing more about him than she had when he had walked through the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. She considered her knowledge to be 'hardly' more because there was something she _had_ learned about Malfoy in the past months – or rather, two somethings.

Something No.1 was that Malfoy had _changed_. Gone were the harsh glares, the snappy retorts, the superior swagger. In their place were shoulders which were permanently tense, eyes which were always downcast, and almost absolute silence. If spoken to directly by one of the many adults who popped in and out of the former Headquarters, Malfoy usually answered in an abrupt, short sentence. Apart from these instances, he never spoke a word. Hermione only ever saw him at mealtimes; otherwise, he confined himself to Regulus' old room, where she often heard him pacing. He did this at the strangest times, which Hermione knew because Regulus' room was directly above the one she shared with Ginny. She would wake at three in the morning, sweating and shaking, with images of dead bodies and the echoes of screams still fresh in her head, and she would hear the floorboards above her creaking as he strode across them.

On one such occasion, she had laid in her bed, listening to his footsteps trace back and forth as she tried to fall back into sleep, and she could have sworn she heard a solitary sniff. This was immediately followed by the whoosh of a non-verbal spell which quickly turned into a loud crash as something broke above her head. Ginny had stirred in the bed beside her.

"S'matter?" Ginny had mumbled, and Hermione remembered being forcibly reminded of Ron.

"It's nothing", she had replied, wondering why she hadn't explained. "Go back to sleep."

A loud snore told her that Ginny had done exactly that, and Malfoy did not appear to be smashing anything else, so Hermione had rolled over and drifted back off to sleep.

That the room he inhabited was directly above her own was how Hermione discovered the second something she knew about Malfoy. Inexplicably, Malfoy seemed to have a penchant for classical violin records. Hermione discovered this on an overcast Saturday afternoon in June. Usually, she spent her afternoons with Harry, Ron and Ginny, but on this particular day she had felt like a quiet afternoon with a good book. She'd taken her battered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ up to her room and had just been settling down to read when she heard the sound of music. Intrigued, she'd laid aside the book and set about determining where the sound was coming from. It didn't take her long – one cock of the ear toward the ceiling told her that the music was drifting down through the floor of Malfoy's room. It was a beautiful violin piece, stirring and melancholy, and she'd sat for almost half an hour, listening to the record Malfoy was obviously playing. Since that day, she'd noticed he played the records more and more, and often she'd pass the door to his room and hear it.

Hermione sat up on her bed and shook her head, annoyed with herself for getting caught up in reverie again while she was _supposed_ to be reading up on the Wolfsbane potion for Andromeda. Teddy had been exhibiting unusually bad-tempered behaviour in the week preceding the full moon, and Andromeda worried that he might have inherited some of his father's less desirable qualities. Hermione was checking to see whether the potion could be modified slightly, in case there were any problems. She sighed and dumped _Potions for a Cure_ on Ginny's unoccupied bed, wondering whether the Black library might have something useful. Hermione was glad Ginny's bed was unoccupied; she loved her dearly, but it was impossible to concentrate on complex potions while someone chattered about Harry, Quidditch, Harry, underwear, Harry, _Witch Weekly_ and Harry on the bed beside you.

This was what Hermione missed most about living with her parents – the quiet. With most of the Weasleys living in Grimmauld Place, peace and quiet was hard to come by. Most unfortunately, the Weasleys had arrived back at the Burrow shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts to find that the extensive charms holding the building up had finally given way, and that what was formerly a house was now a large pile of rubble with chickens in it. The Burrow was currently being painstakingly rebuilt, and in the meantime Mr and Mrs Weasley, Percy, George, Ron and Ginny were all staying with Harry.

Mr Weasley was still working for the Ministry; he'd been offered a position as Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, his dream job, after his predecessor turned out to be a Death Eater disguised as Ludovic Augustus, the previous head. Mrs Weasley had been offered a contract with Obscurus Books to write her own recipe book, but she had turned it down, citing 'how dare you try to take my family recipes from me' as her official excuse. Percy was back in the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and was almost as taken with his new boss as he had been with Barty Crouch, though this was to be expected – it _was_ Penelope Clearwater, after all.

George was still running _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_, having hired none other than Blaise Zabini to orchestrate the financial side of things – apparently, this had been Fred's job and George was hopeless with numbers. However, George had found he was unable to continue living over the shop without Fred, and had moved back in with his family. Mrs Weasley had forced him into the Ministry's new counselling service, and he was now coping much better than he had been with the loss of his twin.

Ginny had been headhunted by the Holyhead Harpies, but had chosen to return to Hogwarts alongside Hermione, to redo her sixth year and complete her seventh before taking up the position. This was the case with most of the previous year's students; there hadn't been all that much learning going on while Death Eaters terrorised the school. This, however, had presented a small problem. Adding the returning first years to the new first years meant that there were now a much larger number of students requiring dormitories and desks in classrooms. During the rebuilding of Hogwarts, the new Headmistress McGonagall had commissioned several new dormitories in each House and magically stretched several classrooms to accommodate all the first years.

Harry and Ron, however, had chosen not the return to school. Both had instead enrolled in Auror training, and were expected to start sometime in autumn. Hermione had initially been upset at the news, but supporting her boys came as naturally now as it had always done. An added bonus was that much of the Auror training took place in the morning, leaving Harry free to spend copious amounts of time with his godson, Teddy.

Hermione mentally kicked herself again; she'd let herself get distracted for the third time that afternoon. She stood up, intending to have a poke in the Black library for a likely-looking book, when she caught sight of an owl winging its way towards her window. She stepped aside and allowed the barn owl to swoop gracefully onto her bed, and then her heart started beating faster in her chest – _it had her Hogwarts letter. _Hermione's hands shook as she unfastened the letter from the owl's leg, and as the owl took flight again she stood in the middle of the room, staring at the letter in her hands. She'd been waiting all summer for this letter. Would the letter hold what she had been longing for, hoping for, for eight long years? Would the letter tell her one of her greatest wishes had come true? Hermione's fingers struggled with the wax seal, her excitement rendering her incapable of opening letters. She finally tore the heavy envelope open, and shook out the sheet of parchment inside.

Thirty seconds later, Hermione thundered down the stairs and threw open the door to the kitchen with a triumphant grin. Harry and Ron were there, heads bent over a chess board as Ron's knight took down one of Harry's pawns with a violent elbow to the stomach. The only other occupant was, surprisingly, Malfoy, who was immersed in a piece of parchment at the farthest end of the table. Hermione ignored him, and Harry and Ron looked up just in time to catch her as she threw herself on them, squealing.

"Hermione", mumbled Harry from somewhere under her hair, "what the hell?"

"I got it!" she yelled excitedly, choking them both.

Ron looked at her like she'd gone mad, and managed to splutter, "Got what?"

"Head Girl!" Hermione burst with happiness as Harry and Ron's faces broke into identical grins.

"Like there was ever any doubt", Harry laughed, hugging her as Ron did a victory dance on one of the wooden chairs. Once Hermione had calmed down, she sat across from Harry and picked up a Chocolate Frog from the large pile beside Ron.

"Of course, I always thought one of you two would be Head Boy", she mused, catching the frog midway through its attempt to escape. "But with neither of you going back, I wonder who they'll choose?"

"It's me", said a voice suddenly. The trio looked up, having quite forgotten Malfoy was there.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. It was the first time Malfoy had spoken of his own free will since the day he'd arrived.

"I said, it's me", repeated Malfoy, and then he seemed to suddenly tire of the conversation. Picking up the piece of parchment Hermione now recognised as a Hogwarts letter, he left without another word. Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, and their expressions were identical to hers, each too blown away to speak. Draco Malfoy had decided to return to Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 4: Peace Attacks

**Thank you for the reviews! **

**liquid-time: I know, and it will get more cliché in the chapter after this, probably. But, once the general scene is set, I'll try to branch out a bit. **

**The spider reference is a nod to an old friend, whom I tried the very same trick on as a child, with similar results.**

Chapter 4:

**September 1****st****, 1998: 10:32am**

Hermione stood by the ornate wooden banister in Grimmauld Place, feverishly checking a long list on an even longer piece of parchment with a quill between her teeth.

"Robes", she muttered, noting that they were neatly folded in the trunk at her feet before continuing. "_The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7_, fresh Potions ingredients, _Highly Advanced Rune Translation_, ink, underwear…"

"Hermione, I think you forgot to pack your kitchen sink", guffawed Harry from his perch on the bottom stair, while Ron spluttered two stairs above him at the mention of Hermione's undergarments. "Oh, no, wait, there it is under the Muggle dictionary."

"A Muggle dictionary?" said Ron in surprise. "What the bloody hell do you need that for?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "In case I need to look up a definition, Ronald? Or maybe a synonym or an antonym, since it's also a thesaurus?"

"Right", said Ron, although he still looked a little dubious. "Well, I think you've probably got everything."

"Yeah, she's only checked three times already", said Harry, still snickering.

"You may laugh, Harry James Potter, but it won't be funny if I get all the way to Hogwarts and realise I've forgotten Crookshanks' cat food, or my dress robes, or…"

"Or your Head Girl badge?" said Ron slyly.

"My Head Girl badge!" Hermione slapped her hand to her forehead in disbelief before turning an accusing glare on the boys. "You hid it from me, didn't you?"

"No, we didn't!" declared Harry indignantly. "We knew you'd forgotten it and we were waiting to see if you'd remember it!" As he said this, he elbowed Ron in the ribs, a clear I-can't-believe-you-ruined-it shove.

"What", said Ron, massaging his ribcage, "did you think we'd let you go without it?"

Hermione made an exasperated sound as she shut the lid of her trunk, fastening it with difficulty. With the weight of being the Chosen One officially off his shoulders, Harry appeared to have taken up the position of Head Troublemaker, with Ron gleefully backing him in endless pranks, jokes and harebrained schemes. Just last week they'd tried to scare her with a plastic spider on her pillow, apparently forgetting she was the smartest witch in her year and the brains behind the Golden Trio. She'd got her own back on Harry, though she'd left Ron out of it – large real spiders crawling out from under the blankets after he was settled in bed might have given him a heart attack. That particular prank had turned out to be _very_ amusing, but right now tricks were not what she needed. Her nerves were frazzled – she was about to head back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, amid gaggles of reporters vying for her attention and seven hundred students or so looking to her for guidance.

As Hermione stood her trunk on its end, ready to Apparate, footfalls on the stairs above heralded the arrival of Malfoy, his own trunk in tow. Harry and Ron jumped up immediately and allowed him to pass; he marched past them and down the hall to the front door without a word. Ron shot Harry a look which plainly said _slimy git_, to which Harry nodded and narrowed his eyes.

"You owl us if you have _any_ problems, Hermione." If possible, Harry's eyebrows drew even closer together. "Anything at all, you understand?"

Hermione sighed and patted Harry on the head. "I'll be fine. I forbid you to worry about me. There's no safer place than Hogwarts, right?"

At this moment, Arthur Weasley appeared in the kitchen doorway and looked around. "Everybody ready?"

"Ready, Mr Weasley", Hermione replied, while a clatter overhead announced that Ginny was on her way down. Mr Weasley turned his eyes to Malfoy, who nodded once.

"Right", said Mr Weasley when Ginny had appeared with an extremely large trunk. He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by Mrs Weasley, who bustled through the kitchen door in her apron and wrapped Hermione in an almighty hug. She released Hermione and moved to hug Ginny, leaving Hermione to rub her neck with a smile. Mr Weasley cleared his throat, and Mrs Weasley let go of Ginny, though she still hovered nearby. "I'll take Ginny through", Mr Weasley reminded them, "and the rest of you… well, you know where to go." Without another word, he laid his hand on Ginny's shoulder, turned on the spot and disappeared. The rest of the party followed suit.

They materialised on a platform at Kings Cross, where an enormous scarlet train was divulging a large quantity of purple smoke over the crowd. At once, no less than ten reporters rushed to Harry and began shouting questions. Harry flushed red and began to respond, and Hermione thought he looked uncomfortable; however, she knew he had come to divert attention from her, and she was grateful. As light bulbs flashed around them, Hermione hugged Harry, Ron and Mr Weasley goodbye, promised she'd write, and disappeared into the crowd behind Ginny. Malfoy had already vanished; clearly, he was as uncomfortable as they were with the media coverage. Hermione didn't blame him – at least the press she received was mostly positive.

Under cover of a knot of fifth year Ravenclaws, Hermione levitated her trunk into the train and made her way to the front to organise a carriage to meet the prefects in. As she passed through carriage after carriage, students smiled and waved, called out greetings or nodded to acknowledge her. Hermione grinned back. She passed a compartment with the shutters down, and barely had time to process the odd occurrence when she stopped dead at the sounds coming from the compartment. Raised voices, a whimper, and –

In the space of a second, Hermione was through the door, wand drawn and aimed. Her brain immediately registered a very serious situation. A Hufflepuff sixth year stood over a prone figure on the ground, wand drawn and aimed at his victim's white-blonde hair.

"Prepare to lose your precious hair, _Malfoy_", the boy growled.

Hermione reacted in an instant. "_Protego!"_ A silvery shield expanded between the two males, knocking the sixth year off his feet and blasting Malfoy's hair forward over his face.

"Oi!" shouted the Hufflepuff boy indignantly, and then he blanched when he realised exactly who he was shouting at.

"_What_ exactly are you doing?" Hermione's voice had a dangerous edge that the boy obviously recognised, but chose to ignore.

"He's not worth your protection, Hermione. He's scum. He deserves to have his hair hexed off – it'll teach him the consequences of being a Malfoy."

Hermione held the shield in place, glaring at the boy. "This is a Hogwarts school Head, you cannot just hex him whenever you feel like it!"

"The _Head_?" The sixth year looked horrified. "Bloody hell, what's McGonagall playing at?"

Hermione removed the shield and pointed her wand, slowly and deliberately, at the boy's heart. "Off you go", she said, very clearly. "And feel free to spread the word. This kind of behaviour will _not_ happen while I am Head." She indicated the door with her free hand, and the Hufflepuff left, scowling. Hermione turned back to Malfoy, and was momentarily confused as to why he hadn't got up yet before she realised what was going on.

"_Mobilius Totalus"_, she muttered, and Malfoy's limbs sprang apart. He sat up, rubbing his elbow and scowling. They looked at each other for a moment, and then –

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Malfoy looked angry, but beneath the grimace there was a hint of confusion.

Hermione was silent. Why had she? She didn't like him, and she certainly didn't owe him any favours. She bounced a few ideas around in her head until she found one that sounded accurate.

"Because it was right." And with that, Hermione strode from the compartment, missing the brief flicker of astonishment crossing the pale face she left behind.

XXXXXOXXXXX

After witnessing the Hufflepuff boy's reaction to Malfoy's placement as Head, Hermione had been uneasy about the prefect's meeting. However, she needn't have worried – word had obviously spread that she wouldn't tolerate attacks on Malfoy and most of the students limited themselves to vicious glares and pathetic stick-your-foot-out-as-they-walk-by pranks. As she settled into a seat across from Ginny, Hermione reflected that Malfoy had a job ahead of him this year. She barely had time to follow that train of thought, however, when Ginny caused a slight diversion by sticking her head out the window, then drawing it back in, coughing and spluttering, with a face full of purple ash. Neville laughed so hard he fell off his seat and lay giggling on the floor.

"Honestly, Neville", said Ginny irritably, as she wiped soot from her chin while Neville continued to howl with laughter on the floor. Ginny glared at Hermione, who was snickering too, and then she grinned.

"Usually it's Luna who does this kind of stuff." Hermione laughed harder as Ginny sneezed a cloud of glittering purple dust over Neville. "Luckily, I got what I was after. Hogwarts is just up ahead."

Sure enough, the train had begun slowing down within minutes, and Hermione, Neville and Ginny gathered their belongings and made their way to the nearest exit. The usual pandemonium was in full swing on the platform. The three older students waded through a positive flood of first years and got into a carriage. As they clattered up the drive, Hermione looked up at the castle. Hogwarts looked as wonderful as her first day – the reconstruction team had done a fantastic job. As she looked around, the only thing that wasn't as normal was the Whomping Willow, which still had several limbs in slings. Hermione had heard that the old tree had done more than its fair share of fighting; when one of the cleaning crew had gone down there, they had found sixteen bodies within reach of the tree's branches, all having died from extensive head injuries. She smiled at it, and imagined that it was feebly waving its limbs back in welcome.

They carriage pull up in front of the castle, and Hermione stepped out onto the cool, smooth tile of the Entrance Hall, feeling at peace. She was home.

**I'm not sure whether the books ever mention the actual counter-curse for Petrificus Totalus, but I think Mobilius Totalus sounds plausible. **


	5. Chapter 5: Not In Control

**Liquid-time: Yup, vey cliché so far. And this chapter's about to make it a whole lot worse. But hopefully then I'll have the characters where I want them and I can branch out a bit.**

**XXXXXOXXXXX**

**September 1****st****, 1998: 6:58pm**

Unfortunately for Hermione, home was where the Peeves was.

A cackle cracked through the air in the Entrance Hall like a whip, shattering Hermione's moment of peace. Without pausing to think, she drew her wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind.

"_Stupefy!"_

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as her lightning-fast spell shot towards none other than Peeves, who was hovering over the crowd with a bucket of frozen peas. The bolt of red ricocheted off Peeves' chest and Hermione watched, powerless, as it streaked like a bullet towards a terrified group of first year girls, and she was too slow, she wasn't going to get there in time-

"_Protego!"_

A silvery shield expanded in front of the first years seconds before the red streak reached them. It crashed into the Shield Charm with all the force of a freight train, exploding into a shower of red sparks with a deafening bang. The first years cowered behind the dissipating shield as Hermione looked wildly around for their savior, still quite unable to believe she'd reacted so violently to nothing more than an unexpected noise. She didn't have to look far. Standing in the doorway was Draco Malfoy, wand drawn and eyes guarded. A hush fell over the crowd as every person turned to look at him, his hair white against the dark sky, and the eyes of the students were not kind. Malfoy ignored them, only glancing at Hermione for a moment before he spun on his heel and walked out the doors, his dark cloak billowing behind him. Hermione hesitated, staring at the still-quivering first years as whispers began to hiss across the Entrance Hall. She took a step toward the little group, intending to apologise, but they drew back as though frightened of her, and her words died in her throat. With that, Hermione whirled around and followed Malfoy past the heavy oak doors and out into the night.

XXXXXOXXXXX

Hermione caught up with Malfoy at the edge of the lake, where he was throwing stones at the water so hard that a Merman has risen from the inky liquid ten feet away and was shaking his fist angrily in their direction. Malfoy's cheeks were slightly pink, a colouring that Hermione had long since come to associate with rage. She stood silently a little way behind him, and a tightening in his shoulders signaled he had realised she was there. He turned and they stared at each other for a moment before Hermione spoke.

"It'll get better." She saw his eyes narrow. "They need time."

Malfoy stepped back, shrouding his face in shadow.

"You need to be careful, Granger," he said, his voice low and even. "They don't need to hate both of us."

Hermione took that as her cue. She turned and walked away, and then she stopped and called back to him.

"We're needed in the Great Hall."

Malfoy nodded but remained where he was as Hermione continued to walk away.

XXXXXOXXXXX

The Great Hall was ablaze with light and laughter when Hermione walked in. More than a few heads turned to look at her as she made her way across the hall to the Gryffindor table and slid into a seat beside Neville. She frowned at him, and he correctly interpreted her frustration.

"It happens to all of us," he whispered. "Just last week I blasted a mouse out of Gran's cat's mouth with _Expelliarmus_. I don't think I did it right though – Aucherlonie's whiskers are still green and he just wasn't himself that day."

Hermione snorted.

"Exactly," nodded Neville. "You have to laugh, even when spells are as scary as yours."

Hermione smiled, and then shifted her attention to the teacher's table, where Professor McGonagall was getting to her feet. As eyes all over the hall swiveled to their Headmistress, Hermione caught a flash of blonde hair slipping through the doors, and was inexplicably relieved. She turned her full attention to the raised platform as the largest Sorting in the history of Hogwarts began, the old first years being sorted among the new. Three of the first year girls who were involved in the incident in the Entrance Hall were sorted into Gryffindor, and all approached the table with wary eyes, as though expecting to be attacked. When at last 'Zaffirelli, Brietta' was sorted into Ravenclaw, Professor McGonagall approached the podium.

"My students. Good evening. I trust your trip was enjoyable?"

Around the room, people nodded. Many of the new first years grimaced, and Hermione could remember the butterflies in her stomach like it was yesterday. She glanced at Malfoy, wondering whether it had been different for him, knowing more than her. How things had changed. Now she was surrounded, bodies pressing in on either side, people anxious to sit next to the great Hermione Granger. Malfoy, on the other hand, was alone at the Slytherin table, as no one else in the house seemed to want to come within three feet of him. They had left a significant gap on either side of his chair, as though all his mistakes were sitting alongside him, eating their dinner too.

"Remember: we are the new frontier, the new hope. Do not fall into the same mistakes that tore our world once before. Unity, as always, is the key." With that, Professor McGonagall sat and the tables filled themselves with food. Hermione shook her head in disbelief; had she really just zoned out in the middle of her Headmistress' opening speech? Goodness, what an example she must have set. She pulled herself together, took one last look at Malfoy, and began to eat.

XXXXXOXXXXX

Immediately following the meal, Professor McGonagall approached Hermione at her table, Malfoy already following stiffly in her wake.

"Miss Granger, are you ready to go? We need to get you two settled in your new quarters." Hermione stood, and McGonagall lead the way into the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase. Hermione fell into step beside Malfoy, staring around as they walked briskly through the corridors. The repair team had done a fantastic job; there was hardly a clue to the violence that had engulfed the castle mere months beforehand. Of course, not everything was as she remembered. A staircase, roped off by heavy chains, swung lethally across a hefty drop at breakneck speed, and as they walked past Hermione could hear it cackling. A scorch mark which looked suspiciously like the outline of a door marred an otherwise blank wall on the seventh floor, opposite a slightly singed tapestry of trolls learning ballet. Malfoy shuddered as they marched past what was once the entrance to the Room of Requirement, and Hermione felt a pang of sadness for him. Though Crabbe and Goyle had appeared to be little more than servants to Malfoy, she had always felt he appreciated them more than anyone realised.

At last, they reached a mirror with an ornate frame, hung at face height in the middle of an otherwise blank wall on the eighth floor. Professor McGonagall gestured to the mirror.

"This will be your new quarters", she stated. "To get in, you need only look in the mirror. It will only open for your face – and it knows the difference between real and Polyjuice, too. If you would, Miss Granger."

Hermione stepped up to the mirror and caught a brief glimpse of her reflection before the mirror swung back with considerable speed and force. Hermione leant back quickly, just missing having her nose taken off. Glancing at Malfoy, she saw he had raised a questioning eyebrow at Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, it's been like that for years", she sighed. "Ever since the portrait was hung. It seems to control the whole room."

"What portrait?" asked Hermione. Clearly, it was a mirror.

Professor McGonagall looked at her with a hint of concern. "You'll see."

Curious now, Hermione stepped inside her new quarters. She did not even take in her surroundings, for as soon as she entered, the room was driven from her mind.

A portrait hung over the fireplace in a thick, jet-black frame, imposing by its size.

And its occupant was the last face she wanted to see.


	6. Chapter 6: Portraits and Pandemonium

**September 1****st****, 1998: 9:06pm**

Hermione stared into the face of Tom Riddle.

Behind her, she heard Professor McGonagall step into the room, and she whirled to face the apprehensive headmistress. Words failed her; she made a choking sound and McGonagall correctly interpreted her question.

"The portrait seems to have been painted during Tom's final year of schooling, by a fellow student, we assume. It is fixed to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, which we have tried and failed to remove. The portrait has been checked extensively; it poses no threat. It appears to be a portrayal of the Tom he created for the world – charming, a little cheeky, with a natural authority."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What you do mean, _poses no threat_?"

McGonagall sat down in a purple armchair. "Do you know much about the art of magical portraiture. Miss Granger?"

"Not much," Hermione admitted. "I haven't really looked into the subject."

"Well, the process is very like the creation of a Muggle painting, except for the paints used, which are specifically designed to capture the personality and general traits of the subject. In every other way, however, they are similar to Muggle art, in that they painted from the artist's point of view."

McGonagall paused and looked at Hermione. "Are you following, Miss Granger?"

"I think I understand what you mean. The portrait is created using the artist's impression of the subject," Hermione replied.

"Exactly," confirmed the professor. "So if this painting, as we suspect, were painted by a fellow student, he or she would only have created it using the image Tom portrayed to the world."

"I understand," Hermione assured her. "But there's one thing I don't get – why is it here?"

"Again, this is mostly Albus' guesswork," said McGonagall, "but we assume he hung it as a tribute to himself and what he achieved here. We believe he wanted to leave a lasting impression on the school."

Hermione thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh. "I suppose I can live with that," she said. "Are you _absolutely_ sure it's one hundred percent safe?"

"Absolutely," McGonagall confirmed. "Albus checked it himself."

At this, Hermione relaxed. She began to take in the rest of the room. It was circular in shape and decorated in shades of purple and bronze. A lounge and two armchairs clustered around a small coffee table in front of the fire. There was a small kitchenette to Hermione's left hand side; on the right was a large set of bookcases and a blank notice board. A staircase on the left led to a dormitory door, and a plaque over the staircase identified the room as belonging to the 'Head Boy'. A matching staircase on the right led to the Head Girl's quarters. As she turned, Hermione noted tapestries, an ancient Gobstones set, and Draco Malfoy, still standing in the entrance. He was staring at the portrait with extreme displeasure.

"Is that who I think it is?" he asked, staring at McGonagall.

"Tom Riddle was the boy who eventually became Voldemort, yes," McGonagall confirmed.

"I can't stay here," Malfoy announced. His eyes flicked to the portrait, then back to the Headmistress. "I can't be anywhere near that thing."

"Nonsense, Mr Malfoy," said McGonagall with irritation. "It is merely a shadow of the public face Tom presented. He is not about to lead you astray. You will be just fine."

Malfoy glared at her for a moment, then slowly stepped into the room. The mirror snapped shut behind him with a bang, and Hermione mentally reminded herself to watch out for that thing. Meanwhile, Malfoy had crossed the room and perched gingerly on an armchair, looking as though he did not quite feel that he belonged there. Hermione looked back to the Headmistress.

"Well, that's all settled," said McGonagall. "I'll leave you two to unpack. You rooms have been designed specifically for each of you, in such a way that you are comfortable there. Please don't forget that you'll need to have a meeting with the Prefects soon, and you'll need to set up a rounds routine as soon as possible." With that, Professor McGonagall left, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone in the room. The silence was uncomfortable, so Hermione broke it.

"Which night would you prefer for the meeting?" she asked. Malfoy shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me," he replied. "Whichever night suits you is fine."

Well, if you're sure," said Hermione. "Let's make it Thursday, then." As she spoke a notice appeared on the board, and Hermione understood that it was probably appearing on the common room notice boards too, informing Prefects of the upcoming meeting. As she mused about this, Hermione yawned.

"I think I'll be going to bed," she told Malfoy. Hermione began to climb the stairs to her room, but paused and turned back to Malfoy.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she said quietly. "And thank you for earlier." Malfoy did not turn, but shrugged from the armchair.

"It was just a reaction," he said. Hermione nodded, and continued up the stairs to her room.

XXXXXOXXXXX

The next morning, Hermione woke to sunlight streaming into her new room. Checking the time, she noted that it was a while before breakfast, so she laid back on the pillow and admired her quarters again. McGonagall had evidently decided Hermione would be most comfortable in familiar surroundings, and she was right. The room was decorated almost exactly like her old dorm in Gryffindor tower, though a wooden desk stood under the window and there were no other beds. The crimson curtains hanging from the four poster bed were exactly as she remembered, as was the gold-weaved bedspread. It was almost as though the past year had never happened, and Hermione was eternally grateful. Sitting up, she took a moment to ponder what Malfoy's new room looked like. It wouldn't be adorned in Slytherin colours, she was sure of it. She thought it more likely that it would be something completely different, totally unlike the dorms, and lacking the underground dankness of the dungeons.

Heaving herself out of bed, Hermione plodded across the room and opened the door to the bathroom. It was just as beautiful as the room, though the crimson of Gryffindor was missing. The bathroom was all white marble, with a small sink and mirror on one side and a tub big enough for one person on the other. The fixtures were gold, tying the bathroom in with the room's theme. The best part was that the bathtub appeared to know which tap in the Prefects' bathroom had always been Hermione's favourite – if she turned the tap on the bath, the faucet gushed primrose-scented water with floating bubbles. Hermione was ecstatic, though she cared not to think about how McGonagall might have known this.

One primrose-scented bath later, Hermione was pulling on her uniform. As she struggled with her shirt buttons, she thought she heard a noise and stopped to listen. It was Malfoy; soft violin music floated through the wall from his direction. Hermione smiled and swayed to the now familiar music as she pulled on her socks. For some reason, the music was comforting to hear. Hermione supposed she had gotten used to hearing it at Grimmauld Place. Still smiling, Hermione went to the mirror and fixed her new Head Girl badge to her shirt, her heart practically bursting with pride. She gathered her books, loaded them into her bag, and headed down the stairs. There was no sign of Malfoy, so Hermione continued out into the corridor, remembering just in time to jump out of the way of the mirror as it slammed shut behind her. Then she looked around in disbelief.

The corridor was pandemonium. Students raced this way and that, narrowly avoiding smashing into each other. A group of second year boys were laughing loudly at an oblivious Hufflepuff third year, who appeared to have forgotten one of her socks. At the end of the corridor, one of the new first years had fallen into a trick stair, and her friends were attempting to haul her back out again. Peeves, still toting his packet of peas, soared overhead, pelting the frozen vegetables at anyone he could. Hermione could barely hear herself over the din, so she sucked in a deep breath and thundered "Stop!"

The corridor was instantly silenced. Peeves pegged one last frozen pea and zoomed from the corridor, cackling. Every pair of eye turned to Hermione.

"To the people running up and down the hall: cut it out," Hermione said. "Someone's going to get injured." She pointed to the second years.

"You boys can move on," she told them. I know for a fact you have Charms this morning, and it's definitely not on the eighth floor." As the Hufflepuff girl walked past, Hermione whispered to her "Amanda, you've forgotten your sock again." Amanda flushed and hurried back in the direction she'd come from.

Next, Hermione headed for the stairs. As she approached, she realised the first years were the same ones she had almost Stupified in the Entrance Hall the night before. They shrank back from her as she approached.

"Morning, guys," Hermione said cheerily, giving them a smile. "Can I help?"

The girl nearest to her, with blonde pigtails and a rather large nose, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again.

'She's stuck in the stair," the girl told Hermione. "We've been trying to get her out for ages."

"Not to worry," Hermione told them. She turned to the student in the stair, a pretty girl with auburn hair. "What's your name?" she asked her.

"Harriet," said the girl, almost in tears. "I think my leg has gone to sleep."

"Harriet, I'm going to lift you using a spell," Hermione told her. "It's a bit uncomfortable, but not at all painful. You'll need to hold onto your skirt, though. Is that ok?" Harriet nodded, and Hermione raised her wand.

"Levicorpus," she said firmly. Harriet gave a small shriek as she was hoisted into the air by her ankle, but managed to keep her skirt from flying up. Hermione gently brought her down and Harriet was immediately engulfed by her peers.

"Thank you, Head Girl," Harriet said over another girl's shoulder. Hermione smiled at her.

"Hermione is fine," she told her. Hermione picked up her bag, waved cheerily at the first years, and headed off to Ancient Runes, feeling as though she could tackle anything. She never noticed Malfoy watching her from the mirror doorway.


End file.
